


You're Only Here to Dissappoint

by FenVallas



Series: Revasel Lavellan [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Solas POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenVallas/pseuds/FenVallas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan impresses Solas and inspires something in him that he would rather not exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Only Here to Dissappoint

The wind was a dry summer breeze, barely tickling the blades of grass on the hillside as they walked in an uneven cluster toward the large, looming mouth that surely dipped into a quiet hollow.

It was where, Solas knew, the wolves would den, a sheltered place where they could raise their young when the time came. This time of the year they should be roaming their territory, searching for prey in the hills surrounding the Redcliffe farms, but instead they were attacking convoys filled with supplies, sowing chaos wherever they traveled.

It should not be so.

His companions seemed to give little thought to the strange behavior of the wolves outside of deeming them as a threat to be immediately eliminated. Solas understood their point of view. Truly. But he could not support their narrow-mindedness, not in this, when it was so obvious that it was more than mere sickness driving perfectly normal wolves to these violent extremes.

Still, the conversation ahead of him focused on the best method to kill the wolves, past experiences with wolves, and the best manner in which to prove they had dealt with the “problem” to the lady of the farm holding.

It was remarkable. Varric and Cassandra typically had very little to say to one another that wasn’t a thinly veiled insult, but apparently the decimation of an entire population of wolves was common ground. They both feared the unknown, the savage, and he was not surprised or offended that the Dwarf who had grown up in the confines of a single city or the woman infamous for her love of order were so opposed to attempting to find alternative solutions to the “wolf problem”.

For her part, Lavellan was curiously tight lipped. She was not typically a very demonstrative or talkative person, but she did contribute to conversation more than he did. It was unusual for her to have nothing to say, especially when her companions were planning their method of attack.

There was always a quip. Some clever comment about the direct consequences of their actions, something she so easily saw that others overlooked, was always on her lips. It was strange to see her so withdrawn, and he would have continued to wonder had she not unexpectedly and clearly expressed her distress in no uncertain terms.

“I don’t want to kill them, not unless we absolutely have to.” Her eyes strayed to the mouth of the hollow, straying to him after a moment. “Didn’t you say it was possible they were under the control a demon, Solas?”

“It is certainly possible.” Solas searched her face but found it unreadable. “I am inclined to agree with you, however. I do not feel that it is necessary to kill the wolves in order to protect the farm.”

“You cannot be serious,” said Cassandra, and she sounded genuinely disbelieving.

It was good to know she was not as judgmental as she could have been.

“I am serious,” it was Lavellan who responded, a grim expression still etched into her features. “Dead serious.”

“May I ask… Why?” Cassandra’s eyebrows arched high, her mouth hanging open slightly, and she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, which hung limply at her side. “If you do not think it is necessary…”

Varric, for his part, simply looked at Lavellan expectantly, his hand on Bianca’s butt, eyes darting occasionally to the mouth of the hollow.

“If it’s the fault of a demon, I would like to avoid killing them,” Lavellan responded, pulling her staff from the straps on her back to lean against it. “The Dalish respect wolves. We never kill them if we can help it.”

Cassandra didn’t look pleased, Solas noted, her lips tugging down at the corners. “If you insist, Hearld, though I do not understand why we keep the wolves alive for the sake of superstition.”

Lavellan said nothing, perhaps out of a desire not to cause tension in their group. It was clear Cassandra would go along with whatever she planned, and as for Varric—

“Alright, sure, Sunny,” he loosed Bianca, and offered her something like a strained smile, “but if a wolf gets too close to me, I’m putting a bolt between its eyes.”

Lavellan said nothing as she pulled away from the group. Solas trailed after her, wondering if her reluctance to slay the wolves was related to a fear of Fen’Harel. Whether it was or not, he was grateful for her sparing them a punishment they did not deserve.

Into the hollow they descended, the chatter from before absent, leaving them in unsettling silence. The footfalls of the rogue and warrior were the only noises that Solas could detect, and even those were muted, a vague shuffling on mulch of leaves and foliage beneath their feet. He trained his senses, attempting to make himself aware of every shift of the wind, of every scent on the breeze, his ears straining in the silence.

It was so still, so quiet, that even Cassandra heard the twig snap, spinning on her heel to look into the eye of the wolves, advancing on them. Seven sets of amber eyes seemed to glow in the shadow from the dark faces of a pack of wolves, over which loomed an impossibly tall, thin shadow.

Even without the tell-tale hair raising presence of magic, Solas would have known, the way the wolves jerked as if they were in physical pain. His heart ached to see it, but he steeled himself and called upon the energies of the Fade, wrapping it around the companions, a shimmering blue vision that appeared for only a moment before flickering from existence.

He could hear Cassandra loose her blade and sling her shield from her back. Varric’s leathers creaked as he stepped forward into Solas’ peripheral vision, sighting the Terror Demon that lumbered toward them, swinging its arms, wolves frothing and snarling about its legs. Above them, the sky darkened and static crackled, raising the small hairs on the back of his arms, thunder rumbling like a growl.

The Demon lunged.

Cassandra leapt forward, barreling into the beast shield first, knocking it off its balance and drawing an ear-splitting shriek from its razor blade mouth.

The wolves retaliated, diving toward Cassandra, but Solas quickly channeled his mana, feeling it sing through him, a wall of ice solidifying between the wolves and the warrior. Their claws skittered uselessly against the smooth sheet of ice and they yelped, crashing into the wall.

Having momentarily incapacitated the poor creatures, Solas turned his attention back to the Demon, which was engaged in a deadly dance with Cassandra, who could barely get in a blow. There was the sound of smashing glass as Varric lobbed a grenade and acid dripped down the Demon’s arm, causing it to flinch long enough for Cassandra to start to drive it back toward one of the high walls of the hollow.

Lavellan stepped up to his side, her hands crackling with static, knuckles white around her staff, which glowed with a brilliant violet light. In an instant, the energy building within her discharged, and a cage of lightning arched above the Demon, trapping it with Cassandra, who leaped toward it with a shout.

Her blow disabled it long enough for Solas to recover and summon ice to creep along its arms and legs, freezing it where it stood. For an instant, his eyes met the warrior’s and she nodded almost imperceptibly in understanding before crying out and bringing her blade down upon the beast with all her might so that it shattered into dozens of hissing and glittering blue-green pieces.

The wolves had recovered, and Cassandra practically spun on the poor creatures, ready to advance on them when Lavellan’s voice called out, “Wait!”

Solas turned his eyes to her, finding her staring at the wolves, holding her ground, her jaw clenched tightly. She held out her hands, standing utterly still, her green eyes flashing. “Don’t move a muscle. Just… wait.”

Wait they did, the large creatures circling them once then twice before dispersing, slinking off into the distant corners of the hollow like massive shadows. He could hear the sigh of relief that Varric and Cassandra released collectively and saw Lavellan straighten, smoothing the front of her armor before she turned to him and grinned widely.

“Shit, Sunny.” Varric laughed and slung Bianca back over his shoulder. “That was one hell of a ride, let me tell you. You think they’ll leave the caravans and livestock alone?”

“They should,” Solas said, answering the question directed toward Lavellan with a nod of his head. “Wolves, unless sick, do not usually encroach on spaces meant for people. There is plenty of prey in this area, so I imagine things will return to normal.”

“Wow, Chuckles, I didn’t know you were some kind of wolf behavior expert.” Varric’s answering whistle was low, and he grinned just a bit too much for Solas’ liking.

“I imagine that I know more about the wilderness than you, having previously been a hermit,” Solas responded bitingly.

Cassandra groaned and began to walk away, Varric quickly dropping the line of conversation to follow her. Perhaps he was simply eager to be away from the hollow, to go back to something even remotely resembling civilization. Solas knew how much Varric hated the wilderness, for when they traveled he joked and complained almost ceaselessly about it, comparing it to the city of Kirkwall.

Solas had been to Kirkwall and did not understand the appeal.

“Thank you,” Lavellan said as she fell into step beside him, her voice quiet enough that only he could have heard her, “For backing me up. We never killed wolves if we could help it, not unless they had the water sickness.”

He searched her face before answering, but she kept it carefully blank. “I do not believe that one should resort to violence until all other options have been exhausted.”

For but a second Lavellan seemed to hesitate but then she smiled and shrugged, “I’m not used to others understanding. Not in this shemlen world, where anything that lives in the forest is…”

“Dark, perhaps?” Solas blinked as they walked from the relative cover of the cliffs of the hollow into the bright afternoon sun. “Dangerous? Savage? Even if it is another shemlen, if it comes from the forest, they likely consider it alien and monstrous.”

“The Dalish have taken advantage of that,” she said with a small smile. “We’re every human nightmare; Elves, free and ruling themselves, with our own religion and culture. I don’t have it in me to kill a wolf when they’re the same way we are.”

Perhaps it was tempting fate to ask her, Solas thought, but he found the words and before he could cast them away again, he was speaking. “And your entire clan holds this belief? Despite any associations with your Dread Wolf?”

“You know the pantheon?” She seemed surprised for half an instant, but the shock faltered and her smile returned. “No, I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Mr. History.”

Lavellan laughed, a deep and resplendent sound, and something inside of him… shifted.

He was not sure whether it was her willingness to spare the wolves, the latest in a series of truly admirable actions, or the way that she looked as they passed from the sunlight on that grassy slope into the shadow of the canyon. Something about her in that moment was undeniably beautiful to him, her face regal in some way, her eyes truly expressive, almost playful.

Quickly he pushed the thought away, though he knew his mind would return to the thought.

“To answer your question, some of us don’t kill wolves because we’re afraid of facing the consequences from the one god who still matters.” Lavellan walked into the stream, water swirling around her ankles, looking at him over her shoulder.

The words were nearly as sharp as the cold water washing over his feet.

“But not you?”

“No, not me,” Lavellan said. “I figure that if Fen’Harel cares about our suffering, Elves are suffering enough as it is so just my continued existence is likely enough to appease him if he’s such a sadist. He probably doesn’t care much about the well-being of wolves. It just seemed like…” She trailed off, grinning at herself. “It felt a bit like a silly superstition.”

It **was** superstition, Solas thought, and though what she believed wasn’t correct…

“You appear to have thought about this a great deal,” said Solas.

“I’m the First.” The words were effortless, and it was clear she still believed that there was a day she could return to her people; perhaps she could, if she ran. “It’s my job to think about these things, and to keep an open mind.”

They walked toward another grassy slope, Varric and Cassandra trampling it underneath heavy boots not far ahead of them. Solas and Lavellan made little noise as they trailed after, Solas contemplating her words and wondering if her mind could be changed, if she could be brought to understand the truth.

Perhaps she could. Perhaps there was no reason for all this secrecy, for him to hide himself and his intentions.

She was a beautiful, admirable woman, who appeared to be motivated by some desire to protect and guard others. Surely, she would not use the information about the Orb for her personal gain, someone as humble as to believe their mark coincidence and not divinely granted.

Surely there was some good left in this withered world.

“Perhaps one day you’ll tell me your opinions on Elven culture?” Her voice drew him from his thoughts and he froze, looking into her eyes.

She stood a few paces ahead of him, half in sunlight and half in shadow, looking down at him with an openly curious expression on her face. Lavellan, admirable and kind, logical and capable, honest in her actions and perhaps her thoughts, stared back at him with a smile on her lips and interest burning in her green eyes.

Again, he found her beautiful and again he pushed the thought away.

“I would think you would be more interested in sharing your opinions of Elven culture,” Solas said, shattering the moment as he took a step toward her and time surged forward.

She had a good heart, but she was still a product of this twisted world and in time she was sure to disappoint him.

They always did.


End file.
